


Amleth

by Enchantable



Category: Pacific Rim (2013), Sons of Anarchy
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Witness Protection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-22
Updated: 2013-08-22
Packaged: 2017-12-24 07:04:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/936839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enchantable/pseuds/Enchantable
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clay's cowardice puts Jax between a rock and a hard place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Amleth

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Do you do crossovers? If you did, could you please do one where Jax Teller and Mako Mori get together? If you don't then it's fine, i just felt like it

High level Feds don’t come to Charming. 

But Clay’s started a war and war tends to attract people no matter how quiet you keep it. Throw in guns going to the wrong people and a few headlines and he half expects the fucking army to descend on Charming. The power of it sends an unexpected thrill through his veins that leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. Things get nastier and nastier and, god help him, he finds himself pulling away. 

One man’s ripping his world apart. But it isn’t one man, not anymore. Clay’s the ignition code, he’s the gun powder, but the explosion’s come from somewhere else and it’s pretty uncontainable. Each side of the war wants him and at home he can feel his mom’s calculating gaze and Tara’s ghost. And at the center of it, of his world, his boys are slowly getting eyes turned towards them.

He’s at his dad’s grave when she finds him.

If Feds had their own perfume she’d be wearing it. Hell she’d practically bath in it. She’s wearing a suit that’s just a hair lighter than the inky black of hers. Usually the Feds make an attempt at blending in, but she doesn’t. Doesn’t even take off her sunglasses as she approaches him. He’s gotta respect that, even just a little bit. She walks up to him and hangs back just a tiny bit and he almost rolls his eyes when he realizes she’s respecting his right to mourn. 

Finally he turns and looks at her. she reads his signal as easily as if she’s in his head, which is annoying since she’s a blank slate. 

"Mr. Morrow is in custody," she says. 

He bites back a curse because of course Clay is that much of a coward. he’d rip the world in two and vanish. He looks back at the grave and she gives him a moment. 

"We’re prepared to make you an offer of protection," she says.

"Not interested," he grits out and turns around.

She leaves without another word.

They try to take his boys the next night. 

He practically takes the boys into the hospital room with him as they prep him for surgery. His boys are safe and thats the most important thing but there’s a bullet in his shoulder and another’s gone through his side. Pain isn’t too bad if he holds himself still but that’s got a lot to do with the drugs in him. He hates that. Hates his bum heart too because he might as well have a sign that says ‘easy target’ on his forehead. 

So of course she comes to see him.

he half wants to ask how but thinks better of it. He’s starting to get the feeling that she’s good at getting what she wants. The nurse has stepped out and he feels like a piece of meat laid out for the slaughter. Her sunglasses are off and there’s a dark intelligence in her eyes as she surveys him. Their eyes lock and hers close off and the first thing he thinks of is the sharks on the discovery channel documentary Abel was watching when they came in to his house. 

"I’m not abandoning it," he says and his voice is about as weak as the rest of him.

"And when there’s nothing left to abandon?" She asks and there’s no judgement in her tone. 

"I’ll be dead," he says. She doesn’t react, "you got a name?" he questions. 

"Yes," she says. He rolls his eyes.

"Feel like sharing?" 

"In a few hours, perhaps," she says.

He catches the laugh that threatens him and blames it on the drugs. 

"See you in recovery then," he says.

She leaves without another word. 

She isn’t there when he wakes up and he blames the emotions that churn in his gut on the anesthetic. Abel and Thomas come in, each with a stuffed toy that was given to them by the nice lady who stayed in the waiting room. There are slight variations in them but they both are Mako sharks. He rolls the name on his tongue. Mako. It suits her. The boys are ushered out and he drifts off with thoughts of Mako in his head. 

He doesn’t seek her out but lets her come to him. This time on the docks. 

"Thanks for guarding them," he says and she nods, "I’m not going to sell anyone out," he says after a beat, "I’m not like my—like Clay."

"I haven’t asked you to," she point out.

"People like you don’t offer protection to people like me unless we’ve got something you want," he says. 

She presses her lips together in the most emotion he’s seen from her and meets his gaze steadily, unwaveringly.

"Perhaps, Mr. Teller, you dont know ‘people like me’ as well as you thought," she says.

she walks away before he can get his tongue to work again. 

He’s got a thing for women he has no business having things for. He’s got a thing for breaking them too. Like Tara whose going to be in jail until she’s old and grey or Wendy whose back on smack after he jammed a needle in his. It isn’t just blood on his hands, its broken lives and dead dreams.

he spends two nights up straight watching Abel and Thomas and thinking about their lives. Tara had a fighting chance when she was out of Charming. She went to college and medical school. He thinks of Abel who watches the discovery channel for fun and wants to go to Sea World for his birthday so he can touch a dolphin. He thinks of Thomas who never colors outside the lines and is already reading past his age. His boys are smart. If they wind up on the back of a bike with cut offs he wants that to be their choice. 

Dying doesn’t scare him. Deciding their lives terrifies him. 

This time he doesn’t wait for her to seek him out. He finds one of those cars they think fools people and knocks on the window. The two men are so stunned one spills coffee on his pants but he doesn’t care. 

"I want to talk to Mori."

in an uncharacteristic show of brains they get her. Its three am and she’s clearly been sleeping. Her armor’s there but its badly tacked on. She’s got on slacks and an almost conservative tank on. It would be conservative if it wasn’t too big. It is though but what makes his throat dry isn’t the lace strap of her bra, its the mass of pink tissue that seems to take over her shoulder. He forces his eyes to meet hers. He feels dazed, like he’s got a fever and he kind of hopes he does. 

"If I said yes," he begins and sets his lips before continuing, "if I did, how would it work?"

She explains everything patiently. He hates every word that comes out of her mouth because its so clinical. It’s like they’re talking about three other lives that are ending, another club that’s lost it’s way and is imploding. When she starts talking about new paperwork and death certificates he’s on his feet before he can stop himself. He runs his hands across his face and fights the urge to run until he can’t stop. Instead he turns around and looks at her. 

"You asked what I’d do if there was nothing left to abandon," he says, "I can’t let it get there," he continues, "because that means Abel and Thomas are—" he exhales roughly, "I’m not here for me," he adds and the words are disjointed, "I’m the Sons. But they aren’t and they—" he shakes his head, "I’d be proud if they joined but being forced in, being used as pawns, I can’t—" he trails off, pressing his back to the wall and sliding down.

He hasn’t felt so powerless since Abel was hooked up to that ventilator. 

She gets to her feet silently and walks over to where he’s sitting. slide mimics the movement, sliding down the wall and sitting next to him. She doesn’t act like he’s something to be afraid of, but he realizes she never has. She sits next to him, her side pressed to his. After a while she lays her head on his shoulder. He shudders, not because the touch hurts but because they both know the first thought in his sick head is how easy it would be to snap her neck. 

She keeps her head there anyway. 

A month later they die in the club house fire.

It’s a horrible blaze that leaves only a few teeth and the edge of his cut off. The deaths are catalysts. There’s nothing left to abandon by the time everything settles. Far away he hides the papers from his boys and breaks down in the bathroom of the nameless motels they pass through. He considers suicide in Texas before he tells Mako the guys with guns have to stay outside. 

They all cry in Georgia when it becomes clear they aren’t on an adventure. Thomas wails for his mom and he doesn’t think it’s possible to hate someone as much as he hates himself. Then Abel, his brilliant son, tells his brother they have to keep going because they lived. They lived while mom and Uncle Opie and all the other people didn’t and its wrong to disrespect the dead by not living. 

Throughout it all, Mako is there. 

She watches the boys when he sobs in the bathroom and removes the sharp objects when he orders the people with guns out. It’s like she’s in his head and he would hate it if he didn’t start to do the same thing. He makes her coffee in the morning and warns Thomas not to twist her arm. He notices she’s got her own sleepless nights and there are too many nights to count when he drags two chairs out of the room and they sit with the door open and listen to the night.

"Daddy look!"

Jax can’t help but grin as he’s dragged to the shark tank. Abel’s got his nose mashed against the glass and Thomas is pressed to his knees, warring between wanting to be like his brother and being afraid of the sharks. He spots one and smacks his hand against the glass. 

"Look its a Mako!" 

That makes him smile for an entirely different reason. 

They spend four days in Florida w fulfilling every fantasy his boys have. Mako gets her face painted with them and even if he’s not supposed to he’s going to keep the picture of the four of them on the log flume forever. On the fifth day she hands him an envelope with three sets of papers and three tickets to Anchorage, Alaska. He swallows and looks at them and then back at her. 

"Seems kind of mean to send three California boys to Alaska," he says.

"I’m sure you’ll adapt," she says and hands him another envelope, "you start Monday," she adds as he opens it to find enrollment papers for a course on plane engine repair. 

he wraps his arms around her and his first thought isn’t how easy it would be to kill her but how hard its going to be to let her go. 

"Are we going to see you again?" He asks. She looks at him silently and he shakes his head, "don’t answer that," he says instead and pulls her back against him. 

He pulls back and leans his head against hers. She closes her eyes but he can’t. He’s mesmerized by the naked emotion on her face. Her breath comes soft and hot on his face. His other hand goes to the back of her skull but she’s already moving her head against his, as if breaking skin contact is an unbearable thought. He agrees. Their lips press clumsily at first but then she sighs and melts into him and he can’t stop pulling her closer. 

His boys are in the next room and he fumbles messily to close the door enough for them not to heart. She nods against him, her hands already tugging on his shirt. His hands slide up and underneath her shirt, his fingers pushing in to her spine as he backs them towards the bed. She throws his shirt off and pulls him down, her arms wrapping around his shoulders as he kisses her neck and trails lower. She shudders when he kisses the scar on her shoulder, her fingers pressing in to the ink on his back. 

It’s all a warm presses and half stifled moans as they explore each other’s bodies. He’s got more ink and more scars and he’ll be damned if she doesn’t kiss every one of them. It’s a struggle to keep quiet but they manage, swallowing each other’s sounds and biting fingers. They cum together with the blankets over their head and her face buried in his shoulder as he presses his mouth to the pillow above her head. They stay locked like that for a long time, listening to each other breathe and pretending the world outside their tent of blankets doesn’t exist.

Twelve hours later he and his boys are on a plane to Alaska. 

It’s not the last time he cries in the bathroom. 

Three months later he’s elbow deep in an engine when she appears. 

There’s blue in her hair and a grin on her lips and he doesn’t even think about the grease in his fingers or the cold in his bones when she kisses him. 

"That’s one hell of a hello Mr.—" she begins but he cuts her off with another press of lips and presses his forehead to hers. Distantly they can hear the boys running towards them but just for a moment he’s selfish and holds her to him. 

"You’re supposed to call me Raleigh now, remember?"


End file.
